Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Size

I've been thinking about this for a while. Size and all that.

I'm underweight. I always have been and to be honest, I hope I always will be. I've never denied this. So when girls who are overweight ask me how I feel about dating people their size, they are always shocked by my answer.

See, I prefer people who are heavier than me. In pictures. In real life, I couldn't give a damn what a woman's body looked like. Personality and facial expressions have always won over body type, easily. I prefer images of women with curves. Not completely thin. Voluptuous. Pneumatic. 1950s. Healthy, really. I don't know why, it's just what I've always been drawn to.

There was one girl in particular today who is overweight and prefers the term BBW (Big Beautiful Woman). She was asking the group of us how we would feel about dating a girl like her. She said that she always felt so alone. That she felt like no one could ever be attracted to her body and her body is the reason she is single. She isn't the first person to confide in me about such a thing.

So I told her a story. I told her the story of a girl I dated. Now, every single girl I've dated has been beautiful in their own right, but this girl was SO beautiful. She was overweight. Not just "hour glass" overweight, but overweight. And she... she had this habit of stealing my breath away without even knowing it.

Sometimes she'd turn her head and the sunlight or a stop light would hit her hair in such a way and my body would forget how to breathe. Sometimes her face would be lost in thought, her brow furrowed and her lips slightly pursed. I'd notice the perfection in her eyelashes, the small blotches and lines that made up her lips and in the realization that her beauty was composed of the smallest divine dots and brush strokes, I'd find myself about to cry. Her skin was so perfect. Beyond perfect, even. Beyond because of the blemishes, the small hairs. The little things that reminded me that I was awake and this was real. I never thought, never imagined that anyone could look so breath taking.

But she never let me near her stomach. I had to avoid that area all together. That place was hers, and I was never given the right to be let in. I'd tell her that I thought she was beautiful, but I don't think she ever believed me. You have to understand just HOW beautiful I thought this girl was. Her gorgeous freckles, how tiny and small her fingers were. They were cute on her tall body. I wanted to hold them to my chest and never let them go, to play with the spaces and the cracks between them and to just be close to her. To trace the pattern of her nose with my eyes. I think after her skin, her nose was my favourite part of her body.

She never got comfortable enough to let me touch her stomach. It made her feel too self conscious. But... in my absolute and complete honesty, of all the girls I've dated, no matter w thin, she was always the most beautiful. Even if I was to subtract her personality out entirely (though of course, I would much prefer her with it), no one even came fucking close.

I am NOT a "chubby chaser." I am just a lesbian. I think women are beautiful. And I just so happened to have found divinity in a body that was over weight.

Being overweight does NOT make someone ugly. It does NOT make someone undesirable. It just makes them overweight.

So if someone tells you you are beautiful and you just so happen to hate your body, you might find yourself repulsive for some reason or another. But that person who is telling you over and over again that you are beautiful could be like me. They could be noticing you in those most subtle of moments, those cracks between seconds. Where the sun passes through a tree and catches on you leaving, illuminating your hair and eyes and leaving them wondering how it is that a creature seemingly so ethereal would even give a damn about their coincidental existence.

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